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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207988">and i cannot find the breath to scream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching'>witching</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you've been like a light [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Complicated Relationships, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Insecurity, M/M, Martim Week 2021, Martim week: OG archival staff, Martim week: triggers, Panic Attacks, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:55:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Most times, when Sasha comes to talk to Tim during the work day, it’s to tell him a shitty joke, or ask for his help on a case, or pretend to ask for his help on a case to cover for the fact that she's only there to tell him a shitty joke.</i><br/>This time, she looks curious, if not concerned, and she doesn’t waste any time before asking, "Hey, do you know what's up with Martin?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you've been like a light [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Martim Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and i cannot find the breath to scream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>fair warning this one is a little bit heavy, but it doesn't get too far into the trauma and much like yesterday, it's really more comfort than anything else<br/>also just a quick note on the timeline and logistics of this series bc we are now getting to the point where it has become actively relevant rather than just a distant knowledge: everybody lives nobody dies and i am mostly just clarifying bc this fic falls under the og archival staff prompt for martim week bc sasha is there and she is actually sasha even tho it takes place in like mid-s2.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>all the chaos falling 'round</em><br/>
<em>i watch it like a movie that has come to life</em><br/>
<em>something kind of numb about the way i keep on drowning it out</em><br/>
<em>danger, I feel danger</em><br/>
<em>and i cannot find the breath to scream the words out right</em><br/>
<em>every thought is paralyzing, need to find a way to you now</em>
</p><p>// carly rae jepsen, 'real love'</p>
<hr/><p>Most times, when Sasha comes to talk to Tim during the work day, it’s to tell him a shitty joke, or ask for his help on a case, or pretend to ask for his help on a case to cover for the fact that she's only there to tell him a shitty joke. </p><p>This time, she looks curious, if not concerned, and she doesn’t waste any time before asking, "Hey, do you know what's up with Martin?"</p><p>"No," Tim replies with a furrowed brow, "is something up?"</p><p>"Yeah, he just came out of Jon's office and ran straight into the hall,” Sasha explains, her eyes following the path as she describes it, as if she’s trying to work out where Martin has gone by tracing where he’s been. “I thought you might know if he was upset or something."</p><p>Tim curses himself internally for not paying closer attention, for not noticing Martin's movements. Martin would never fault him for it, of course, Martin would say it’s not his job to keep tabs on him or to watch out for him, but Martin would be wrong, because it is absolutely his job. "For fuck's sake, if Jon said some stupid bullshit again, I'll throttle him."</p><p>An inscrutable look crosses Sasha's face for a fraction of a second, quickly replaced by a blank expression. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it,” she says. “Maybe don't be so hard on him."</p><p>"Me, don't be so hard on him?” Tim exclaims incredulously, then looks around to make sure Jon’s office door is closed, and lowers his voice to hiss, “He deserves it! You should tell him not to be so hard on Martin."</p><p>"I have told him that," Sasha reminds him in a placating voice with just a bit of a sharp edge, "and I'm just the messenger, so watch your tone with me."</p><p>"Right, sorry,” Tim mutters, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair. “I'm just – pissed off, but not at you, I'm sorry."</p><p>Sasha smiles gently at him, sympathetic and forgiving as always. "It's alright, I understand."</p><p>Grateful, Tim offers her a smile in return before pushing back from his desk and standing. "I'm going to go find Martin,” he says, somewhat redundantly, “make sure he’s alright. Will you cover for me if Jon comes looking?"</p><p>"Yeah, of course."</p><p>"Thanks, Sash," Tim says earnestly on his way out the door, "you're a saint."</p><p>"I know," she calls after him.</p><p>It takes him over fifteen minutes to find Martin, long enough that he almost considers giving up. Not because it’s too difficult, but because he knows all of Martin’s spots in the basement, and if Martin’s somewhere else that Tim doesn’t know about, it might be because he doesn’t want to be found. </p><p>But he doesn’t give up, and eventually Tim finds Martin sitting on the floor in a supply closet, biting down on his fist to muffle the sobs shaking his body. He pushes down the bile rising in his throat, all the anger at Jon that won't help him right now, tries to focus on being whatever Martin needs at this moment.</p><p>He sits on the floor beside Martin, extends an arm to let Martin decide whether he wants to lean into the embrace. Martin takes a deep breath and scoots closer, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and Tim wraps both arms around him, soothes him with warm hands until Martin is able to breathe properly and speak coherently. </p><p>When Martin finally looks up at Tim’s face, Tim gives him a moment to see if he’s going to say anything, and when he doesn’t, Tim asks, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"</p><p>"Nothing, it's fine,” Martin says, the way he always does, “I'm fine."</p><p>"You're <em> obviously </em>not fine, Martin,” Tim chides him gently. “I'm not about to make you tell me anything you don't want to, but you don't need to lie to me."</p><p>"Okay, I’m not fine,” Martin admits, and then he’s silent for a long time before he says, "It was my fault for being stupid, really."</p><p>"Also a lie," Tim replies flippantly.</p><p>Martin sniffs, huffs out a little breath that might be a laugh, but not with any real humor in it. "No, I just – he just told me that I messed up on one of my reports, I overreacted."</p><p>Tim purses his lips and narrows his eyes, struggling with how to approach the whole thing without alienating Martin or scaring him away. "This is not an overreaction to professional critique," he says firmly. "What's really going on?"</p><p>A pause, Martin’s whole body tensing up, and then he lets it all go on a sigh. "It really wasn’t his fault,” he insists, his voice all high and wavering, “it’s just. He said something.”</p><p>“Yeah, I gathered that,” Tim replies, holding back as much as possible of the bite in his tone. “Something in particular?”</p><p>“It was just. I screwed up the report, and he pointed it out, and I apologized because that’s what you <em> do.” </em> Martin pauses, takes a deep breath, and the rest of his words come out quick and indistinct, forcing Tim to strain to hear him. “And he said <em> If you’re so sorry, why can’t you do it right? </em> and it’s just – my mum used to say that when I was a kid, all the time, and it’s silly, I feel so stupid, I shouldn’t be acting like this over something like that."</p><p>His arms tightening reflexively around Martin, Tim speaks through gritted teeth. "Christ. I'm gonna kill him." </p><p>"No, it wasn't – I don't mind that he was being like that, I deserved it,” says Martin, “it was just the exact words he used, you know? He couldn't have known." </p><p>"You didn’t deserve it, nobody deserves that, but especially not you,” Tim assures him confidently, and then: “He could just try not to be a cunt, then it wouldn't be an issue."</p><p>"Tim, I'm serious, please drop it,” Martin implores, looking up to meet Tim’s gaze with that irresistible pleading look in his eyes. “We just did this whole thing, I don't want to go through it again. Please don't start anything with him over this, I'm not worth all that." </p><p>Tim freezes. <em> "Excuse </em> me?" </p><p>Martin furrows his brow in confusion and repeats himself, almost. "I said it's not worth it." </p><p>Pulling back slightly, Tim places his hands on Martin’s shoulders and looks directly into his eyes, searching. Trying to work out if he knows what he’s doing, or if he really doesn’t hear himself the way Tim hears him. "No,” Tim tells him slowly, pushing down the irritation in his tone, because he’s not irritated with Martin, and it wouldn’t do to make him think he is. “You said <em> you </em> aren't worth it. And you know that's not true, not to me, and – I won’t do it, because you asked me not to, but just know I really am quite tempted to start shit just to prove that to you." </p><p>Martin’s eyes close for a moment, like he’s processing what Tim’s said, or like he’s regretting what <em> he’s </em>said. "That’s what I mean, though,” he explains nervously. “You’re always doing stuff like this for me, always comforting me, and I’m always – falling apart, and crying. It’s not fair to you." </p><p>“I think I’ll decide what’s fair to me,” says Tim. He pauses and smiles before adding, “I’m sorry you seem to have a highly selective memory, but you do know I’m a terror, right?”</p><p>Mumbling something noncommittal, Martin tries to turn away, but then Tim says, “Hey,” pulling his attention back. “I’m a terror,” he repeats more emphatically. “I’m an anxious, insecure mess, and you keep sticking around, and you never make me feel guilty for needing reassurance, for needing <em> you. </em> I just want to give you the same thing.”</p><p>Martin bites his lip before responding, “Yeah, but you don’t make me calm you down when you cry every other day.”</p><p>“First of all, you don’t <em> make </em>me do anything,” Tim tells him. He takes a breath, swallowing down his instinctive reluctance to even ask his next question, unable to let go of the fear that making Martin think about it will make him realize that he actually doesn’t want to put up with Tim’s bullshit. It’s stupid, he tells himself, and it’s exactly the thing he’s trying to talk Martin out of doing, so he pushes through it and continues, “And second of all, would you hold it against me if I did that? Would you give up on me, or just keep comforting me because you felt obligated to?”</p><p>“No,” Martin admits, though he looks torn, like he wants to argue that it’s different but he doesn’t know how, because it isn’t different at all. “No, I’d – I’d want to make you feel better, because you’re my friend.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Tim says triumphantly, accompanying the declaration with a short nod of his head.</p><p>Martin gives him a small, watery smile. "Thank you."</p><p>Relief washing over him, Tim leans in to press a kiss to Martin’s forehead. "Do you want to go home?” he asks, checking his watch. “It's close enough to the end of the day, I could tell Jon you nipped out early to do a quick follow-up on your way home."</p><p>Wiping the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand, Martin shakes his head. "No, it's okay, I can finish out the day,” he says, his voice much more even and only barely thick with the remnants of tears. He looks at the floor quickly and adds, suddenly sounding nervous again, “But… can I come over to yours after work?"</p><p>Tim rubs up and down Martin’s arms with his hands and answers warmly, "Course you can, sweetheart."</p><p>"Thank you,” Martin says again.</p><p>"Anytime. I mean it,” Tim says gravely, catching Martin’s eye to make sure he understands the truth of the sentiment before he moves on. "I'm going to head back, alright? You can come back whenever you're ready."</p><p>Martin nods his acknowledgment, and Tim shoots him one last smile before leaving him.</p><p>When he gets back to the archives, Tim is slightly surprised to see Jon leaning against Sasha's desk and talking to her, the conversation looking rather involved. Jon looks incredibly distressed and Sasha looks sympathetic, and they both look up at Tim when he walks in.</p><p>Jon opens his mouth immediately. "What’s –,”</p><p>“Just leave it, alright?” Tim interrupts, unwilling to suffer Jon’s bullshit right now. “He’s having a hard time, and he doesn’t need you on his back as well.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Jon deflates, and he sounds genuinely upset when he says, “I don’t know what happened, I didn’t mean to –,”</p><p>Tim struggles to hold in a laugh at that. “But you did, Jon! You didn’t mean to, but you did.”</p><p>Jon shrinks even more, staring at his feet and wringing his hands. Tim almost feels bad for him – they’re friends, after all, and despite whatever Jon’s been going through lately, Tim cares about him. He wouldn’t be so angry with Jon if it didn’t feel like such a betrayal coming from him. Maybe it’s stupid, but Tim had thought, knowing what went on between Jon and Martin and what went on between him and Jon, he had thought that they might all be closer for it.</p><p>But then Jon had to go and get something stuck up his ass, running hot and cold all the time and treating Martin worse than he did back when he hated Martin. And now this, whatever Jon is doing right now, looking all remorseful. Tim would like to believe that it is just remorse, but Jon’s behavior of late points in a different direction.</p><p>His voice is small when Jon finally asks, “Well, is Martin… is he alright?”</p><p>“No, he’s not alright,” Tim snaps, then tries to soften his tone and his face. No need to antagonize him further. “Just. Leave him alone, please.”</p><p>“Well, now I’m concerned,” Jon protests. “Do you think I should go check on him?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” says Tim, shocking himself with the amount of determination in his own tone. “You’ll make it worse, just by being near him. Give him his time to calm down, and maybe – <em> maybe </em> – you can talk to him later. But <em> only </em>to apologize.”</p><p>“Oh. Alright. Okay,” Jon says, leaning back against Sasha’s desk. </p><p>He glances at Sasha, who gives him a look that doesn’t go past her eyes, and Tim can’t quite interpret what it is, not when it’s not directed at him. Jon looks uncomfortable, and he could leave if he wanted to, could go back to his office, but he doesn’t look like he wants to leave. He looks like he wants Tim to leave, so they can continue whatever conversation they were having when he walked in on them.</p><p>And, well. Maybe it’s spiteful, maybe it’s petty, but Tim does stick around, not even walking the few feet to his own desk. He hovers and Jon hovers and Sasha sits at her desk looking at the both of them like they’re idiots, and none of them says anything, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.</p><p>The other shoe drops a few minutes later when Martin comes back in, his eyes red, shaking like a leaf. He looks at Jon and Sasha and Tim, all gathered around and not talking to each other, and his eyes go wide and wet. He doesn’t speak, just walks back to his desk without making eye contact with any of them and tries to get back to work. Tim and Sasha are kind enough not to just stare at him the whole time, but that’s only because they’re both watching Jon, who is absolutely staring at Martin.</p><p>Tim nudges him in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a dangerous look, and Jon raises his eyebrows questioningly, and Tim jerks his head in the direction of Jon’s office, which is also the direction of Martin’s desk. Giving him the option to interpret the gesture how he’d like. Tim would prefer that Jon return to his own office and get on with his own work rather than making Martin feel like shit again, but Jon is an adult and Tim can’t force him to deal with this in the way he would like him to.</p><p>Jon walks over to Martin’s desk, his movements slow and wooden, and wrings his hands there until Martin looks up at him. “Do you want…” his voice is soft, in volume and intensity, and Tim strains to hear him at this distance. “I have water. Would you – would you like some. Water.”</p><p>“I – what?” Martin glances at Tim over Jon’s shoulder, and Tim can only shrug, because it’s not as if he has any idea what Jon is doing.</p><p>“Do you want some water?” Jon repeats, and then seems to realize that Martin heard what he said, that he needs to actually explain himself. “I have a small refrigerator. In my office. I can bring you a bottle of evian, if you like.”</p><p>“Ah. No, I’m alright, but thank you,” Martin replies, still sounding small and nervous and, above all else, utterly confused. “Did you… need something?”</p><p>Tim watches Jon lean his weight back on his heels, and he can picture the look on Jon’s face: his brow furrowed deeply, his mouth set in a tight line, the way he gets when he doesn’t know how to handle an emotional situation and he’s trying not to become frustrated with someone else for it when it’s not their fault. It’s reassuring, a bit, for Tim to know that Jon is at least trying his hardest not to make it worse. He’s still prepared to step in if need be, but he waits to see where it will go first.</p><p>Jon’s voice is exactly how Tim expects it to be, matching that expression that he can’t even see. “I just wanted to check in?” he says, nervous and on edge. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Dropping his head into his hands, Martin lets out a long, low breath, and Tim feels oddly proud of him for not hiding his feelings like he normally might. Then Martin says, “I’m fine, Jon. I’m sorry about all that, I shouldn’t have – I’ll stay late tonight to make up for it.”</p><p>The response from Jon is immediate, his hands extending toward Martin in an aborted gesture of comfort, his words strained and high. “No, God no, Martin, that’s not what I meant,” he explains urgently. “I’m not – I’m not upset with you? I’m concerned. I know I wasn’t being very… kind, earlier, but I’ve just – I’ve never seen you react like that. And I’m sorry.”</p><p>Martin lets out a short, bitter laugh, but he looks rather embarrassed about it. “It’s alright, Jon, you don’t have to – pretend you care, or anything. I’m okay, don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“I’m not pretending,” Jon replies fiercely, darkly, “I’m being genuine. You don’t have to talk to me about it, of course, I know I’m not – the best, at that sort of thing. But I am… h-here… for you?” </p><p>The words are enough to have Tim and Sasha turning to each other with incredulous looks, and the uncertainty and hesitation in Jon’s voice is enough to have them stifling laughter. Martin sounds somewhat amused himself when he thanks and dismisses Jon, and he puts his head down on his desk as soon as Jon is gone. Tim can hardly even wait that long before he crosses over to Martin’s desk, leans in close so he can whisper without fear of Jon overhearing through his office door.</p><p>“What the <em> fuck </em>was that?” he asks, still trying to hold back laughter as Martin lifts his head to meet his gaze.</p><p>“I have no idea,” Martin replies, looking like he’s just met an alien and is now trying to comprehend the fact that it apologized to him instead of incinerating him with a ray gun. “I thought you did something!”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Tim states fervently. “I promised I wouldn’t, and I didn’t.”</p><p>“I know, I believe you,” says Martin with a soothing hand on Tim’s arm. “The only other explanation is that Jon has a brain parasite.”</p><p>From across the room, Sasha laughs, and they both turn to look at her. “He doesn’t have a brain parasite,” she says through another fit of laughter. “If you’re not going to bloody talk to him about it, then stop speculating and do your jobs.”</p><p>Martin smiles at that, preparing to get back to work, and Tim pats him on the shoulder before returning to his own desk. They can speculate about Jon on their own time, he thinks, as they often do. </p><p>Still, it’s a bit – not suspicious, not quite, but certainly odd, how Sasha’s been responding to the situation. Like she knows something they don’t. Tim recalls Jon and Sasha stopping their conversation as soon as he walked in the room earlier, and Sasha telling him not to be so hard on Jon, and, well, with anyone else, he’d say they have to be sleeping together, but that’s entirely out of the realm of possibility, so there must be something else going on.</p><p>If it were just his concern, then Tim might be willing to let it go, or he might just be wildly curious rather than slightly worried. But if it has something to do with Martin, then he has to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.</p><p>He doesn’t get much work done for the remainder of the day.</p>
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